Past debris
by legiblepetals
Summary: "Do you not remember m-me?" she asked. The effort he had to make to speak was not worth telling her that she was just a face without a name, but an aura as powerful as he had only once before felt in his whole life. "I am Gabrielle, Fleur's sister," she said. [Voldemort!wins AU, set in the future]


**The Golden Snitch - TGS Anniversary Event: Beauxbatons, water. Ollivander's Wand Shop: Write about Gabrielle Delacour. Costume Contest: Write about a character falling for a Veela.**

 **QLFC, round 11 . CHASER 1 - Write about** losing someone/thing on a windy day(s) OR **winning someone/thing on a rainy night(s).**

 **(word) muffle, (emotion) melancholy, (song) Oceans - Seafret**

 **Voldemort!wins AU, set in the future** **: the war has reached Durmstrang and Beauxbatons, and the two schools have been destroyed.**

* * *

Debris.

Ruins.

Holding his wand high, Viktor walked through forlorn stones lit by the pale and waning moon.

Even nature itself seemed to be afraid of this place, and had he been a wiser man, he would have been too. But he was not wise — that part of him had been lost during that fateful night Durmstrang was attacked and burned down by English Death Eaters.

Instead, waves of pain and nostalgia crashed down on him as he thought of what had been lost without chances to be found again.

" _Wir sind da_ ," he said to his companions, plodding towards the core of the ruins — where had stood the beating heart of the School — and looking at the black-stained walls. The once white stones held no memories of what they had been, of the splendor and the glory that had reigned there.

Looking around now, the sober Durmstrang Institute couldn't be distinguished by the opulent Beauxbatons.

He suppressed a shiver. Even the cold was the same — rigid and bone-chilling — and dead bodies lay on the cracked marble, untouched, uncorrupted.

A warning to the enemies of the Dark Lord.

A warning to anyone that dared defy him.

A grin passed through Viktor's lips. To him, the greater the display of strength and cruelty by You-Know-Who, the more his urge to rebel grew.

"Viktor," someone called.

His grip on his wand tightened as he hurried towards the spot from where the cry had come.

Once there, following Aleksej's gaze, he spotted a pair of blue eyes, looking at him in fear from a dark shelter made with what seemed the rest of a fountain, the signs of moisture like tears on the old stones.

Putting his wand back into his robes, Viktor made a reassuring gesture with his hand, one hand towards the ground, the other making a welcoming gesture.

The mysterious eyes disappeared for a little while, retreating further into the shadows.

When they were visible again, they were followed by other sets of eyes, just as afraid and pained.

 _Girls, little girls._

Viktor looked at Aleksej before searching Ivanka; they looked at him and shrugged.

He scanned the little group of Beauxbatons students again.

They were young, too young. The oldest couldn't be older than fifteen, her silver-blonde hair floating around her, the shivers running through her body threatening to break her.

Instinctively, he took off his heavy cloak and wrapped her up in his heavy cloak, smiling as she nodded her gratitude and shared it with her companions.

Muffled French words reached his ears, and he wondered how such a lyrical language could still be used in such a dark world.

He shook his head, forcing himself to look away from those tragic figures and focus on their next steps.

But the thought of those children, of those blue eyes, kept coming back. The others must have died during the attack, and even out of them, not even half of them would survive the winter.

Their fragile lives had suddenly come to heavily rest on his shoulders.

He didn't even know where to go from here.

A timid call stopped him. "We are coming wiz you."

He glanced back. "You do not haff a choice," he said, his voice, raspy from the cold moisture of the night, harsh even in his own ears.

He felt that odd tug at his heart again as the oldest girl looked down, and he took an unwilling step towards her — he was not supposed to look back, to _go_ back. They needed to keep going.

"Do you not remember m-me?" she asked.

The effort he had to make to speak was not worth telling her that she was just a face without a name, but an aura as powerful as he had only once before felt in his whole life.

"I am Gabrielle, Fleur's sister."

He barely heard her words, but a sad smile froze on his face then.

Suddenly, after hearing her soft voice, the absence of his cloak didn't matter anymore.

.x.

The cave was dark and cold — lighting a fire would draw unwanted attention — but it was all they had; and it was a welcomed shelter from the storm outside, the rain rhythmically hitting the ground like war drums.

He sighed, looking at his companions and the little girls from Beauxbatons.

 _Gabrielle._

That name felt like it should mean something, but it couldn't, _could it?_ It was just a name.

Speaking any name could be dangerous — that he had learnt at his own expense — and forgetting them seemed wise.

And yet, of all the names he had heard and forgotten, that one had stuck in his head.

With another sigh, he closed his eyes, only to re-open them a few moments later, alarmed by the muffled steps coming his way.

"Viktor?" The voice was soft and never has his name sound so delicate on anyone's lips. "I cannot stand zis."

He looked questioningly at her, urging her to elaborate, suddenly wishing her to draw closer

"The rain, the water…" Her shoulder trembled. "This place… it is dark and 'umid…"

What did she expect from a cave?

"Just like ze uzzer time — I almost drowned zen."

"Vot?" he stupidly asked. Despite himself, he opened his arms. "Vell, come here."

She launched towards him and hid her face into the crook of his neck, her cold nose nuzzling in it.

A lightning made her silver-blonde hair shine, and Viktor found himself running a soothing hand through it, fascinated, mesmerized.

It was then that it clicked.

The Triwizard Tournament.

Hostages.

A little, nameless, and faceless girl who had looked lost and scared.

"Gabrielle," he said, her name tenderly crossing his lips and leaving behind a honey taste. It was full, intense. He had never known his mouth was able to speak such sweet sounds.

He felt her smile into his neck, and a long-forgotten heat blossomed into his chest despite the absurdity of it all.

His arms were not meant to comfort, but to bring war — that's what he had been trained to do.

Oceans and high mountains should be between them, not just a few layers of too light clothes.

Two different languages, two different worlds… They were not meant to meet, to stay together — of this he was sure.

His English was thickly accented, and so was hers.

He never liked speaking that language, but it was one of the few things they had in common, and like the rest, it was forced, impossible.

Echo of a forgotten, equally unlikely love, resounded in his heart — he had met her in December, but in January he had already lost her.

Oceans.

Mountains.

Bushy hair.

His world trembled. This time, he wouldn't do the same mistake; he wouldn't let the girl who had won his heart go.

The rain was still running, but he knew no force would be powerful enough to wash away his silent promise.

He caressed Gabrielle's back, tightening his embrace as he felt her slim arms closing around him, the tip of her nose finally getting warmer.

* * *

 _Wir sind da_ means _here we are_ , if I'm not mistaken


End file.
